The Smoking Room
by Bagel
Summary: Shirley Jackson's story "The Smoking Room" with a Buffy twist.


The Smoking Room  
By: Bagel  
  
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the extremely lucky people who own the Buffyverse. I am merely borrowing Willow, Xander, Spike and Buffy to play with, and shall return them bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when I am finished. Nor do I own Shirley Jackson, or her short story "The Smoking Room".   
  
Author's Notes: I am a big fan of Shirley Jackson's work. (The Haunting of Hill House, The Lottery). I recently obtained a book containing many of her famed short stories. One in particular, "The Smoking Room", from which I got the title and the basis for this fanfic, I hold in very high regard. So I decided to write a Buffy-version of the story. The story is highly amusing and wonderfully ironic, and I only hope I can portray that in my fanfic attempt.  
  
Timeline: Season 4, sometime after "Something Blue". Willow and Buffy live in the same dorm, but not in the same room. (because I say so, not because it's true.) Xander lives in his parent's basement with Spike.  
  
Author's thanks: Wolfie, for turning me onto the book from which the story came. And to the Cross-and-Stakers for their constant support and encouragement of my fic work. You rock!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*  
  
He was actually a lot…better looking than I'd imagined him. Though I wasn't at all surprised at the extremes he used to do…well, anything. I was all by myself in Stevenson hall's common room. Not a big shocker, since it was 3:00 in the morning. Here I was, working furiously on a new computer program to help Buffy with the subject, well, subjects she was having trouble with when, all of a sudden, the lights started to flicker. A few seconds after I frantically tried to save the program (no WAY was I going to spend another evening studying in 5 minute intervals with Buffy. I love her to death, but...), an enormous crash sounded directly behind me, followed by some sort of…sizzle. I whirled around, clutching the stub of a pencil in my trembling hand, and there he was.   
  
I don't know if it was the caffeine, or the overwhelming desire to get maybe an hour of sleep before my Chem lab, but I found myself speaking. "Could you BE any louder? I'm trying to work here."  
  
He just stood there, smoke rolling off his head and dissipating somewhere above him. Frankly, I was surprised he hadn't set off the sprinkler system. "This is as quietly as I can do…this," he gestured to himself apologetically, "You do realize that it requires quite a bit of explosive energy."  
  
"Well then," I ordered, turning back around to my work, "go 'poof' and such somewhere that's else. Besides, this is the common room for COLLEGE students. WOMEN college students. You don't exactly fit the bill. You're missing certain…required parts."  
  
"I know." he said.  
  
(Wouldn't have figured him for the quiet type. I mean, the things you hear about him, you'd think he'd already be off organizing a parade in his honor. Speaking of that, why aren't I running away in terror yet? Does that part of my brain not work after midnight?)  
  
I spun in my seat once more so I could get a closer look at him. The fact that I wasn't really shocked at the sight of him, or that I wasn't scrambling to protect myself surprised me a bit. I couldn't really do much to him anyway, I suppose. I'd just recently perfected that fire-from-ice spell, but that definitely wouldn't do me any good in this situation. In fact, it would provide the exact opposite effect that I desired. So, I resolved to stay put. I mean, he wasn't armed that I could see. (Nope, no 2-pronged pitchfork-thingy in sight.)  
  
He was still smoking a little, but other than that, he wasn't that hard on the eyes. I mean, really, the horns? So small they were barely noticeable. And, no red skin, sharp teeth, or pointed ears in sight. (Well, his ears ARE slightly more pointed than normal, but…I guess that's really not the point...) I came back to reality once I noticed that he was staring at me expectantly.   
  
"So…." I began, tapping my poor excuse for a pencil against the desk, "I guess it's safe to say that you're the Devil?" When I got no response except more of the glaring, I quickly corrected myself. "Or, do you prefer Satan…or Beelzebub? Or maybe Lucifer?" I squeaked out the last part, afraid to look up and see how mad I'd made him.  
  
He just continued to stare at me, if a bit more amused than before. Finally, he responded.  
  
"Yes, I AM the Devil." He actually sounded kind of…pleased. (Oh great…now I KNOW I'm not sleeping tonight.)  
  
"Well then, where's your tail?" It escaped before I could stop it, and almost immediately my hand flew to my mouth in an attempt to stop my foot from planting itself into my mouth any further.  
  
I swear I saw him blush before he answered, vaguely waving his hand in the direction of his posterior. "Circumstances…." he murmured. Recovering quickly, he walked, well, really it was more of a pathetic swagger, over to the table where I was working. "Um...what're you doing?" he inquired.  
  
"Writing a computer program for a friend." I responded. (I really wish he'd get to the point. I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I'm beginning to get just a little bit cranky. I mean, geesh, I know he's all powerful in the black arts and such, but REALLY!) I glanced up from my internal tirade and noticed that he was still leaning over me, as if pondering what to do.   
  
"Let's see." He finally decided, moving his rather small hand toward my keyboard. (Wow, he's a pretty small guy for someone so "almighty". Pretty good looking for one too, but no need to get into that...)  
  
Thinking only for the safety of the past four hours of my labor, I shoved his hand vehemently away. (Oh goddess, OW!) He'd BURNED me! And it hurt! Clutching my hand protectively to my chest, I painfully commented, "Hey! Just....go away. I'm busy and tired and....you hurt me! So, mind your own business!" I took a deep breath after that last part, attempting to enjoy my last seconds on earth before he decided to barbecue me for my harsh response.   
  
He blinked once or twice before sitting down on the extremely tacky, fake leather loveseat across from me. "Look," he attempted meekly, " Do you, um, have a cigarette?"  
  
"Cigarettes are horrible for you," I blurted out, still nursing my throbbing limb. "They smell and they cause cancer and they're really not a great way to make friends...."  
  
"So I take it you don't have one." he interrupted.  
  
No," I snorted my denial. "Check under the sofa cushions or something. Maybe someone dropped one."  
  
He wrinkled his nose at the unappealing prospect, which somewhat surprised me, but nevertheless, he stood up and bent to search under the loveseat. A few minutes of searching produced 23 cents, a month old paper entitled "The 10 best Czechoslovakian western films ever made", a disposable camera, and the sought-after cigarette. I watched, somewhat startled, as he lit it with the tip of his index finger. (Wow. I've got to learn how to do that. New spell prospect...) The pain in my hand seemed to increase at that moment, probably because it had become extremely red and inflamed, and frankly, horribly painful.   
  
"You know," I commented through gritted teeth, "You really shouldn't treat people like this. It kinda tends to make enemies, and seeing as how you're the Devil, I'd think you already have plenty of those."  
  
He glanced up amidst the cloud of smoke he was producing, actually managing to look sympathetic. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he murmured a few concerned words and the burn vanished.   
  
"Thanks." I managed cautiously, examining my hand for any lasting marks.  
  
"Simple healing spell," he countered as he crushed the butt of his cigarette under his heel, paying no mind to the brand-new carpet beneath him.  
  
I gaped at his thoughtlessness for a moment, decided it was probably useless trying to lecture him on proper manners, and leaned forward to question him some more. "By the way, do you mind telling me why you're here, of all places, at," I checked my watch, "3:30 in the morning?" My attempt at nonchalance seemed to go over well, because he only paused a moment before replying,  
  
"This IS a college, isn't it?"  
  
(Okay, NOW I'm really confused.) "Um, yeah. The sign out front kind of announces that fact in really big block letters." I leaned back in my chair, strangely pleased at the incredulous look I was receiving from an all-powerful being, before continuing, "Right now you're sitting in a common room, sometimes known in the 'old days' as a smoking room, in Stevenson Hall, a dormitory on the campus of UC Sunnydale with a freshman witch who's working on a computer program to help ensure that her best friend doesn't fail any of her classes. Speaking of which, if Buffy finds you here, all hell will break loose...if you'll forgive the expression."   
  
He began to laugh at that, a loud tenor sound that echoed throughout the room. (I didn't realize my choice of words was THAT funny.) "I'd like to meet this Buffy," he said.  
  
(Hmmm....I wonder what that'd be like. "Hey Buffy, vampire slayer, meet the Devil. Yes, I said the Dev..." I figure I'll only get that far before all the "fun" starts.) "No, you really, really wouldn't," I assured him, "Buffy's, um, well, it's sort of Buffy's job to slay people like you." I gave him a little sheepish grin to help tide over that piece of news.   
  
He raised his eyebrows at this revelation, and then suddenly seemed to think of something, because he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I wonder if you'd mind signing this?" he asked casually.  
  
After the tension had ebbed from my body and my breathing returned to normal (who knows what he could have been hiding in there?), I reached over and plucked the paper from his grasp. "Well, do you mind if I at least read it first? I mean, for all I know, I could be giving you my soul or something."  
  
He shrugged dismissively. "It really isn't important, but if you must, go ahead."  
  
Turning the paper over, I scanned the writing and barely suppressed the squeak of fear attempting to escape from within me.   
  
"This gives the devil my soul," it read, and below that it left a space for a name.   
  
I sighed a moment, before letting the sheet flutter to the floor and bringing my hands up to rub at my temples. "Figures."   
  
(Okay, deep breath. In....out....in... There, that's better.) Who was I kidding? That WASN'T better. The Devil wanted my soul. My SOUL. Couldn't he be like any other guy and want to borrow my psych notes or go out for coffee?   
  
"This isn't very legal, you know." I commented, swooping to pick up the scrap of doom.   
  
He peered anxiously over my shoulder. (Geez, that's annoying. If I tried to swat him away like a fly, I wonder how mad he'd get...) "Isn't it? What's wrong with it?"  
  
Ball's in my court. The legality of contracts wasn't anything I'd ever paid a whole lot of attention to, but I've been known to watch Law and Order every once in awhile. Time for a good old fib (which, unfortunately, I'm not very good at).  
  
"Well, obviously!" I scoffed, throwing the paper onto the keyboard scornfully. I turned away as I continued speaking, hoping to calm my telltale stammer by not looking him in the eye while I lied, "No one's ever going to think that holds in a court of law! No witnesses, a thousand loopholes that a smart lawyer could drive a truck through..."  
  
As I ticked the reasons off on my fingers, his eyes widened further and further, making him look increasingly ridiculous. Miserably, he picked up the contract and frowned upon it. "It's always been okay before," he argued.  
  
"Ha!" I snorted derisively (or at least, I hoped it was derisively, since I was lying through my teeth), "To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you'd do business so....so....unprofessionally."   
  
At that I began to walk away, hoping our decreasing proximity would prevent him from reducing me to a pile of ashes at my impudence. Frowning thoughtfully, he began to pace, still fingering the offending piece of paper.   
  
"Look," he said finally, "We'll make another contract...one you think is all right. I don't want to be doing this wrong, after all."  
  
(Oh, of course not. We should always sell our souls to the Devil in a *proper* manner. Oh yeah, this guy was a piece of work. How could anyone be afraid of someone so....so....laughably asinine?) Shaking my head slightly, I resigned myself to my fate.  
  
"All right. I'll make a new one up. I'm not that good with the legal terminology, but I think I can manage." At his eager look, I held up a halting hand, "Hold it. On one condition. After I do, no matter what, you'll leave me ALONE so I can finish this program."   
  
He looked a bit shocked at being spoken to so forcefully, but made no hesitation in nodding his head submissively. "All right, go ahead. If it suits you, it suits me."  
  
Nodding my confirmation, I settled myself in front of the computer and began to type furiously.   
  
"Hey, what're you doing?" he questioned suspiciously.  
  
"Typing up the contract on the computer. That way, I can make two copies. One for you, one for me. That makes it binding," I explained patiently. (All that heat must really make a person dense...)  
  
He continued to regard me dubiously as I resumed typing as fast as I could, wanting to get this ridiculous business over with as soon as possible. (I'll worry about telling him that I'm not going to sign it later, AFTER, well, after I come up with some sort of halfway decent plan of escape.)  
  
"Um, so how long is this contract good for?" I questioned.  
  
"Oh, eternity." he said easily. (Eternity. Oh joyful....)  
  
I hit the print button with a slightly shaky index finger a few minutes later, and we waited for the printer to spit out the documents. As I said before, my knowledge of these things was limited to watching one-hour stints of exaggerated courtroom drama, so the contract was just a wee bit confused. It said:  
  
'I (insert name here), hereinafter to be known as the party   
of the first part, do hereby sell and consign my soul, hereinafter   
to be known as the party of the second part, to the custody and   
careful watchfulness of (insert name here), for the sum of one   
dollar and other unnamed considerations, admitting and conceding   
that it is a fair and just bargain, and no complaints afterwards; this   
agreement is binding, by mutual consent of the parties concerned,   
in any court of law, wherever conducted. (signed) (witnessed)'  
  
(Hey, looks pretty good to me! Neat.) I allowed myself a small satisfied smile at my most recent accomplishment.  
  
"Um, hey," he tapped me on the shoulder after reading it twice, "I don't understand it."  
  
"Well, it says the same thing that yours did, except that it's more binding." I pointed over his shoulder. "See all those things about parties, and hereinafter and courts of law? That makes it legal." (I think...)  
  
"Okay. So, sign it then." he demanded, shoving it in my direction.  
  
(Um...okay...now what? Somehow I don't think "Thanks for the offer, but I like my soul where it is" will go over well. Okay, so stall. Yeah, that's it. Um....uh....geez, where's Buffy when you need her? On the other hand, he probably wouldn't even put up much of a fight. He looks pretty wussy to me. I could probably take him...)  
  
"Ooooh!" I exclaimed, a little too triumphantly, "We need a witness."  
  
"So get one."   
  
(Darn....) "Um....okay." (Double darn. What now, Rosenberg?)  
  
Obviously, Buffy was out. I didn't think devil remains would look good with the carpet. Plus, waking up a slayer who was probably out until midnight hunting vamps and ruining yet another outfit at four in the morning? (Sooooo not a good idea.) That only left one person.  
  
"Oh wow....sure. Let me call my friend Xander." I left before he could say anything, off to my room in search of a phone.  
  
The phone rang four times before it was picked up, dropped, and retrieved amongst a cacophony of muttered curses. "Huh?" a sleep-befuddled voice asked thickly.  
  
"Bloody hell," a cockney voice came from the background, "Tell whoever that wanker is on the other end to shove off 'till morning."  
  
"Xander?" I questioned into the phone, silently prodding him into coherency.  
  
"Willow?" he questioned in disbelief.   
  
"How's a bloke expected to get any bloody sleep 'round here? It's four 'o clock in the bloody morning!" Spike continued to himself, then changed his tone as he provoked Xander, "You know, mate, I don't know if I fancy your sorry excuses for friends phonin' you and waking me from the rather nice bout of sleep I was having. Not like they have anything important to say anyway..."  
  
I heard a resigned sigh and the shuffling of bed covers. The newly neutered vamp's voice faded as Xander moved away. "Please tell me you're calling me at four am and subjecting me to Spike's 'I can't kick your ass, but I can still mock you to death' tirades because you're in horrible, life-threatening peril. Because no true friend would do that unless they were totally out of their minds."  
  
"Xander," I began, not certain how to express my dilemma, "I, um, need you to come over to witness a contract."  
  
"A what? Okay, you are insane..." he muttered, and I swore I could see him holding out a halting hand as if he could somehow stop the conversation from continuing.  
  
"Hey! Don't you be giving me that! I can say whatever I damn well please! I should bloody well rip your head off for that, you know!" Spike threatened.   
  
"Ha! As if you could even if you tried, Spikey boy. Since you got 'fixed', I could kick you from here to...well, somewhere really far away without even trying."  
  
"Um, Xander?" I questioned from the other end of the line. "The contract? You signing it? Now?"  
  
"What the hell..." he murmured as he refocused on our conversation.  
  
"Exactly," I responded, "I've, uh, kinda got the Devil waiting downstairs."  
  
"Okay, Will? Can I tell ya a couple of things?" Not pausing to let me answer, he forged ahead, "One, caffeine is bad for you for this very reason. Two, this is a very unfunny prank phone call. And three....well, I'm just a bit too tired to think past two, so never mind."  
  
"Xander, please. I'm not kidding. Must I remind you where we live?"   
  
My only reply was a resounding sigh and the sound of him pulling on his clothes. "Okay Will, I'm coming. But if he suddenly decides to kill us, you sooo owe me, like, a lifetime's supply of Twinkies from the 7-11 up above," I thanked him profusely as he continued, "Just let me throw a load of laundry in the wash for mom."  
  
"Oh yeah, we wouldn't want Mommy getting all upset, now would we?"  
  
"Shove it, Spike." Xander replied, taking me with him on the cordless phone to the washer and dryer.  
  
"Xander, come ON! He'll get impatient."  
  
"Hey, considering he's an immortal being who's been waiting all this time, he can definitely afford to wait through one wash cycle."  
  
I sighed as I hung up the phone. The way those two were beginning to banter was bringing back Cordelia memories. (Ugh. Don't EVEN go there.)   
  
"Okay, now what?" I spoke aloud to my empty room. Well, not totally empty. Amy's here. (But does she really count? I mean, she used to be human, but...) "Augh!" it escaped before I could help it.  
  
I didn't know how much longer I could take this. As if my life weren't stressful enough! Trudging down the stairs towards the common room, I tiredly ran my hands through my hair and sighed. My right hand froze halfway through my locks because a horrible, high-pitched scream came from the direction of the gaping doorway. My survival instincts, honed after years of Scooby gang membership, kicked in quickly and I ran into the room, preparing my pencil-floating spell as I went.   
  
Unfortunately, my preparedness was in vain. (Did I just say UNfortunately?) I rounded the corner and froze, barely getting the chance to blink before the raucous laughter began.   
  
"Um...uh...hey! What's going on? Guys?" I prodded, trying to make sense of the ludicrous sight in front of me.  
  
Spike and the Devil (Oh, heck. Why don't we just call him Bob? I mean, "The Devil" really isn't much of a name, now is it? I'd think someone who spends most of his time torturing people would be able to come up with some sort of an awe-inspiring title besides "The Devil") were living it up on the couch, smoking and laughing like old high school chums. (Although, I guess they have things in common. The death and the evil and the torture and all that. And where did they find those cigarettes?)  
  
"You know guys, I really don't think that's so funny. No, actually I'd have to say I don't find it at all funny. Of course, I don't think you can blame me, since almost having one's hand fried doesn't generally make one want to chuckle with glee," Xander babbled, holding the limb in question close to his body and grimacing.   
  
"Okay. Guys. GUYS......HEY!" I shouted.   
  
"Bob" and his new smoking partner immediately fell silent and gazed at the floor. I thought they even looked a little remorseful. (That's right, pal. Willow's in charge here....and oh, please believe that.) I turned on my heel to face Xander, who actually looked pretty pathetic.   
  
"You," I said, pointing to the Devil, "heal him. Then sit back down. Xander, when he's done go get the papers off the computer. And Spike.....Spike...what are you doing here anyway?"  
  
"Well, pet, I was bored. That bloody stink hole your friend calls home is just...tacky. And I thought it would be more fun to tag along and see what all the fuss was about than stay there and play house-sitter for the wanker here. Besides, Passions wasn't on today," he replied, stabbing out his cigarette on the table and reclining with a grin on his face. (Well, considering he's evil, I guess you'd say it's more of a smirk....but it doesn't really matter, does it?)  
  
"All right you three," I began, my confidence wavering as my temporary feeling of power faded, "Lets...get down to it. I need to get this over with so I can go back to work. 'Cause I was working on something important, and it's 4:30 am, and I'm really tired, and..."  
  
"Whoa, Will. Slow down that wagon train of thought, huh? This is way weirding me out, and while I'm not really looking forward to going back to my oh so lovely basement dwelling, my desire for sleep overwhelms pretty much anything else at this point," interrupted Xander, "So let's get on with it. What do I have to do again?"  
  
"Just sign this." Bob said, crossing the room with the new contract in hand. He attempted to give them to Xander, but Xander refused to get anywhere near him.   
  
"Uh-uh, I'm not messing with someone that sets fire to you every time he touches you," he protested, backing into the wall.  
  
"Oh fine," I sighed. I walked over to the Devil, took the papers, and brought them with me to the table, "What?" I continued curtly, noticing Spike staring at me intently.  
  
"Nothing, luv. Just enjoying the show."  
  
(Ignore him. Just ignore him.) "Okay," I began, sitting down on the loveseat as far from Spike as I could get, "I'll sign first."   
  
Now, I may be meek, and I may babble constantly, but I'm not stupid. I wasn't about to sign my soul to, well, Bob over there. But it seemed like I was stuck. (How am I going to get out of this? I mean, I sign, and that's it. My soul? Sold to a guy whose idea of a good time is poking people with a bident and cackling maniacally, with an occasional game of chess thrown in for flair. I mean, if I sign..)  
  
"Oooooh!" I accidentally let the squeak escape. Quickly clamping my mouth shut, I shoved down my giddiness at the idea that had just struck me and picked up the pen.  
  
"Cor, pet. You seem a bit excited for someone who's about to sign their soul away to the Devil. If I'd known you'd get that excited at the prospect of torture and death, I would've hoarded you away a long time ago," Spike commented thoughtfully, propping his feet up on the table.  
  
I nonchalantly countered by shoving his feet off the table top as I quickly signed my name in the second blank. "Shut up, Spike. Here," I shot out hurriedly to the Devil, "you have to sign it too."  
  
Bob took the pen from me and paused, staring at it almost quizzically. Clearing his throat nervously, he blushed and confessed, "Um, well....I'm afraid....do you mind if..." he looked at me apologetically as he made an X in the first space. "I never learned..."  
  
Xander's jaw dropped and he opened his mouth to deliver what I was sure would be a smart-ass remark. Before he got the chance, I kicked him in the shin.   
  
"Ahem," Xander corrected himself, looking away as he reached down to rub his left leg.  
  
"Sign here," I directed Xander to the witness space. He reluctantly complied, and we repeated the process again on the second copy.   
  
By this time, Spike was grinning like an idiot. (I think he's on to me. Oh please, please don't ruin this, Spike, or so help me I will sic Buffy on you...yes, that's right. Sweet, sympathetic little me. Just DON'T do it.)   
  
My thoughts were confirmed when he announced out of the blue to the Devil, "So mate, I guess you owe ducks here a dollar."  
  
"What for?" Bob asked confusedly.  
  
"Xander. Xander!" I hissed through clenched teeth, (my so-far-successful attempt to hide a jubilant smile) trying not to draw attention, "Let me borrow a dollar."  
  
"Uh, Will? Do you realize who you're talking to? Xander. Xan-der. The non-college boy who works at Pepe's Pizza and is obviously, judging by this conversation, into self-condemnation? Why would I have a dollar to spare?"   
  
"Xander, just give me a dollar! I'll pay you back."   
  
"Oh for pete's sake, luv, here," Spike interjected, pulling a wallet from his back pocket and handing me a buck. (Wow, with those jeans on how on earth did he manage to fit a wallet in there? Okaaay, don't wanna know.)  
  
"Willow?" Xander queried curiously.  
  
"Huh? Oh...right." I returned, shaking myself out of my thoughts.  
  
"So," the Devil said, rubbing his hands together eagerly, "What can I do for you now?"  
  
I began to relax a little, shifting my weight so that I could drum my fingers on the table top. "Hmmm.....let's see...I could go for a....a....umm..." (Oh, the possibilities!)  
  
"I could go for a pizza," Xander offered.   
  
"I didn't mean food, Xander! I meant something like......ooh! I know!" the idea hit me halfway through my lecture, "First off, mister Bob, you can finish that computer program for me. Then, you can take my Chem lab so I can catch up on much-needed rest....the stress is beginning to get to me, judging by the gross-looking throbbing vein on my forehead. Xander, does it look bad? Is it all twitchy?"  
  
My concern for my forehead's well-being temporarily distracted me from the list I was concocting. Frowning one last time at the thought, I continued, "And, you know, I wouldn't hate it if all my spells actually worked when I tried them. Oh, and now that I think about it..."  
  
"Whoa, Will, slow down girl! I know you have visions of herbs and incantations dancing in your head, but...how about throwing in something for me, huh?" Xander looked a little left out amidst all my ramblings.   
  
"Okay, um....how about finding Xander a nice girlfriend who's not a witch-with-a-capital-B, and who has better manners than a family of tripped-out hillbillies? Oh, and it would also help if she weren't so...so...orgasm-happy." (Whoa....animosity, way present. But...but...she deserves it. She definitely does. Right?)  
  
"Thanks Will......hey!" he protested, "I know an insult cleverly hidden in a blissful wish when I see one, girly. My taste in women is just fine, thank you." After pausing a moment to process, he amended, "On second thought, it would also help to find someone who doesn't find a new way to insult some form of my lifestyle every five minutes."  
  
"And while you two are at it, how about finding me a set of earplugs to block out the pathetic, self-centered row you're making. Makes me want to heave."  
  
"I'm sorry, Spike. I guess we are being a little self-indulgent," I said, "...you want something too?"  
  
"A nice little crypt with chains and a telly and the like will do just fine for me," he answered quickly, "Oh, and throw in some Weetabix, a pack of Marlboro's, and an un-lifetime's supply of those cookies you make, eh luv? Got to have something to do after playtime too, you know."  
  
I smothered a grin with my hand at his response. (Can't fool me, Spike. Nice try, though. Losing your touch?....Although, not like I'd ever ask that to your face 'cause...eep.)   
  
"Uh-huh Spike...and how long have you been planning that response?" I let slip. (Hey, the hand thing doesn't always work.)  
  
He managed to summon an indignant look at my accusation. "Hey! I'll have you know that I did not! I'm just very good at being greedy. I am evil, you do remember?"   
  
"O-kay then. I guess that's it," I said to the Devil.  
  
"Except, of course, for a few thousand dollars?" Xander put in at the last minute, "You can, um, do that, right? And you know man, just between you and me, it would really help me out. More money to take out the ladies."  
  
I didn't bother to smother my smile this time. Xander was gazing at something really interesting on the floor, and Spike looked about ready to bust with a dry insult. Luckily, Bob broke the moment by confirming our little "request list".  
  
"You shall have all these things," the Devil promised eagerly.  
  
"Uh, pet, aren't you forgetting something? Like, the other end of the bargain?" Spike prodded.  
  
I looked at him blankly, thoughts of my upcoming material happiness awhirl in my brain. I shifted my gaze to Xander, who looked equally flummoxed. (I mean, give us a break. I know I'm usually on the ball, but it's 5:00 in the morning! At this point, the ball has not only slipped from under me; it's deflated completely.)  
  
Spike cleared his throat, gesturing with a chipped-black fingernail to the bill clutched in my fist. Following his gaze, a flush crept up my face as I realized what he was speaking of.  
  
"Oh....yeah," I bounced up quickly, beginning to cross the room with the dollar, "And you get this out of it." I hesitantly handed him the dollar bill. (Oh, great. Is my hand shaking? Stop....stop shaking! It's okay. He won't be mad...really....yeah, and if you believe that, I've got a magical singing frog I can sell you.)  
  
I turned to leave, but before I could return to the safety of the loveseat, he tapped me on the shoulder. (What is it with him and the tapping?)  
  
"What's this for?" he questioned dumbly, turning the money over in his hand.  
  
"Um..well," I squeaked, "That's for your soul." I offered him a small, innocent smile, hoping to soften the blow.  
  
Bob looked at his contract again. "Your soul," he said slowly.  
  
"No...your soul." I returned.  
  
"Your soul."  
  
"Your soul!"  
  
"Uh, no...your soul."  
  
"Um, hello...YOUR soul." I argued, voice elevating at his stupidity.  
  
"No, your..."  
  
"Oh bloody hell, you stupid pillock!" Spike exploded, leaping off the couch and shoving my contract in the Devil's face, "Where you signed...right here," he pointed with a finger, "It says you gave the girl here your soul for a measly buck, and other unnamed considerations and all that crap. So shut your freakin' hole before you make me angry!"  
  
"Um...those considerations would be the cigarette you took and ....hey! The new keyboard you owe me, since you melted it!" I explained. (I can't believe I didn't notice the keyboard before! Bad Devil-man, can't keep his hands to himself...)  
  
"And getting me out of bed and subjecting me to an annoyingly irate speech by Mr. 'I'm a formally evil, presently useless demon' here." Xander threw out from across the room.  
  
Bob grabbed the contract from Spike and pulled it close to his face, scanning it again. A silence befell our little gathering as his eyes roamed over the words. There was a pause when he was finished, face hidden behind the piece of paper. We heard his breathing accelerate, accompanied by something that sounded like a gas stove. Before I could blink, the paper exploded into flames, and the Devil's face appeared from behind it, red and raw with anger. His mouth began to flap open and close, and his fists clenched at his sides, shaking with rage and defeat. (Now that's what I thought the Devil should look like.)  
  
"Wow," Xander stated, watching sparks begin to fly from Bob's mouth, "He puts on quite a light show, doesn't he?"  
  
"Hey mate, you should really teach me how to do that. It'd come in handy, I gather, when I get back to the torturing and maiming again." Spike said thoughtfully, ignoring the scathing look the Devil gave him.  
  
"I...I think maybe we...should go." I stammered tentatively, backing toward the open doorway.  
  
Just then Bob seemed to get a little pale, and he backed up against the wall, staring in open-mouthed horror at something behind us. Xander, Spike and I turned around, and there was Buffy. (Oh, she does not look happy.) Her hair was a mess, piled on top of her head and hanging down on all sides of her face. Her pajamas were rumpled, and a shiny bruise adorned her right cheek, directly below a closed cut above her eye. She looked deadly. Very deadly.  
  
"Excuse me," she began cordially, "Do you know what time it is? 5:00. In the morning. I just spent most of my night ruining my favorite sweater while I rolled around in the mud, kicking the asses of about ten very ugly vampires. I came home looking forward to some sleep, and I'm not happy. Want to know why?!" she continued menacingly, stepping past us and heading toward the Devil, who was still sputtering, "Because no sooner do I fall asleep than my evil radar goes haywire again. I hear shouting and stomping and something sounding like extremely disorderly conduct coming from down the hall. And you, with your horns and the horrible fashion sense that just screams 'demon', are obviously the cause of it. So, I'm only going to ask you once. Are you going to leave quietly, or am I going to need to show you the way out? The very painful way out?"   
  
By the time Buffy had finished, she had her finger embedded in Bob's chest, and he was unsuccessfully trying to climb up the wall. Sweat beaded down his face as he attempted to explain himself. "Ma'am..."  
  
"Leave. Now." Buffy replied stonily.  
  
"Yes ma'am." Bob hurriedly confirmed. He appeared to be frozen in place.  
  
"1......2....." Buffy began, cocking a fist back.  
  
The Devil cast one last dreadful look at the group of us, standing uncertainly behind a large lamp. (Okay, hiding. But Spike was the baby. He hid behind both of us.) When he was through, he tried to vanish in a puff of smoke. All he succeeded in, however, was a weak sizzle and sort of a backfire, and then he was gone.  
  
Buffy watched him go, and then turned to leave. Before she could pass us, Xander pushed me forward into her path.  
  
"Um, Buffy. See, what happened was..."   
  
"Yeah Buff, it was actually sort of funny because..."  
  
She simply glared at us, daring anyone to say anything else. Spike looked away nonchalantly, suddenly very interested in a photo on the wall. Satisfied, she cast one last scathing look at Xander and I, and left, sock feet padding down the hallway.  
  
The second the door slammed behind her, three very audible sighs of relief echoed throughout the common room.   
  
"So....." Xander began, shuffling his feet, "Who's up for that pizza?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
